


baby (you will never grow old in my eyes)

by a_b028



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Multi, Regret, ha ha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_b028/pseuds/a_b028
Summary: The memories are what keeps him awake during the night, he is not going to lie about that. That, and a silent hope that maybe his bard is not dead. Maybe that’s all rumours or idle words, travelling from mouth to mouth.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	baby (you will never grow old in my eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like this work is really half-assed n that i just wanted to write something sad and disappointing so herE IT IS
> 
> title taken from lana del rey's song "every man gets his wish
> 
> this could very well be treated as gen

Geralt has already learned – more than once – that word travels fast. It travelled fast after the whole fiasco with Blaviken, after Cintra was attacked and destroyed, after a bunch of mages fought against Nifgaard (with Yennefer in the front line, no less). He doesn’t even have to recall any situations, simple fact that a Witcher is in the town spreads like a wildfire.

Sometimes, when he allows himself to be idle, he imagines that if he ever were to duel with gossips or stories he would lose.

But, as fast as words are, they are also tricky – and can do a lot, both damage and good. That’s why Geralt prefers not using verbal communication and if he must, absolutely must, he keeps his answers as short as possible. He hurt enough people to last one lifetime while simply using his mouth.

So, when he hears a word that his former companion died, he simply doesn’t believe it.

(It goes like this:

Geralt is sitting in some kind of nasty inn in an equally nasty city, when he hears a drunken drawl somewhere in the distance.

“–ya heard,” a rusty, male voice says, “That the bard who sang these popular songs ‘bout him died?”

At first he doesn’t even stir – first, he is used to a nasty talk behind his back, second, there’s no way that Jaskier would be dead. Geralt hadn’t seen the man since he told Jaskier to fuck off, and that has to be some good years in the past, but surely it wasn’t that long. _There’s no way that his bard is dead._

He wishes he could stand up and go to the man who spreads this bullshit and smash his head on the table, but he know he can’t and that’s just it.

Instead, Geralt stares down at his bowl and thinks. _There’s no way._ )

The second time goes similar. The only difference is that Geralt doesn’t sit idly but goes to the ins’ keeper and asks questions to which he demands proper answers.

The woman eyes him with a hint of anger and boredom, “What do ya want me to say, Witcher?” she drawls, “The worst is that ya friend is six feet underground. Or maybe not a friend anymore – guessing from the fact that ya don’t know this.”

He grunts, “Where did you hear this?”

“People talk,” she replies, still wary, “Will ya be taking a room or are ya just going to be a nuisance?”

Geralt waves a hand at her, “Don’t bother,” he says, “Do you have any idea from where the _people talk_ comes from?”

She gives him a look and he sighs, reaches down to a heavy sack attached to his waist and puts it’s on the counter, “Now, rings a bell?”

“From what I heard,” she begins as she takes the sack, “Ya bard died somewhere near Oxenfurt from an old age.”

He furrows his brows, “Old age?”

“We, humans, die just like that,” she crosses her arms in front of her chest, “A simple cold and we are out of this world.”

Geralt doesn’t ask further questions and heads to Oxenfurt the very next morning.

The thing is – Geralt doesn’t know what to do with the information that Jaskier is most likely gone. At the thought of it, he feels a dull yet piercing pain that goes through his chest alongside his head, which is hazy and full of memories of the time they spent together.

It’s been years, so he doesn’t feel as desperate as he would if he had witnessed his bard’s death or even held him in his arms during it.

And there’s some longing, awful longing that takes him back to the time when they parted. To the fact that Geralt said those awful words and never apologized for it as he should. Never told Jaskier how sorry he was. Never even got to see Jaskier again.

He wonders how the years treated him or if his death was a peaceful one. If he even is dead. 

The memories are what keeps him awake during the night, he is not going to lie about that. That, and a silent hope that maybe his bard is not dead. Maybe that’s all rumours or idle words, travelling from mouth to mouth.

 _There’s a seed of truth in every gossip_ echoes in his head every time he thinks like that.

When Geralt reaches Oxenfurt, there’s nothing for him to find.

He even reaches Yennefer – who is currently busy doing whatever witchcraft she usually does – and asks if she could locate Jaskier.

“Why would I do that?” she says, “It’s been years since I’ve seen him, Geralt.”

Geralt hums, “I heard some– word,” he struggles to say it aloud, always dancing around the topic, never finding the right words, “That Jaskier is dead. And I wanted to know for sure.”

Her eyes widen slightly – not enough to notice by a normal bystander, but Geral has known Yennefer for a long time, “Dead, you say? Though it’s to be expected, like I said – it’s been years.”

“How many?” Geralt questions, “I don’t even know.”

She smiles sadly, “Too many,” she answers and then shrugs, “Around twenty, I suppose. Ciri is a grown up woman, after all.”

Twenty is a lot for a human, he knows, and his bard was already around forty years old when they last met. Yeah – Yennefer is right. It’s to be expected, “So, are you able to check that?”

“I don’t know,” she replies truthfully, “Do you have anything of his that could help me locate him?”

Geralt thinks, then shakes his head and feels his guts twist, “No.”

That’s when he realizes that he most likely lived twenty years without even realizing he has nothing left of his bard. The only person that wanted him, the only person that cared about him. A he threw it away like it was–

“Let me think what I can do,” Yennefer says, at least.

Yennefer finds a solution, as always, and when he watches her hands working magic for solid ten minutes only to find what he already knew. He is still grateful for her help.

Geralt doesn’t know what to do with himself after the knowledge hit him properly. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t rage – doesn’t feel anything. There’s disappointment and sadness and guilt in his chest but otherwise, he feels numb to everything.

It’s been over twenty years, and during that time he hadn’t thought about Jaskier often. He wants to blame it on the situation, on the fact that he was busy raising Ciri and helping Yennefer and killing monsters but that’s _not true._ Because he is aware that if he wanted he could’ve gone to search for his bard sooner.

He just hadn’t cared enough.

Geralt could’ve done more, but he didn’t. And that’s what really makes him bitter.

Yennefer visits him shortly before he leaves.

He is lying in bed, back to the door when he hears her slip to the room as quietly and swiftly as possible. Then, feels the bed dip as Yennefer lies next to him, “I know talking is not your strongest point, but–“ she puts a hand on his shoulder, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

Geralt doesn’t see her face, but he is sure that Yennefer rolls her eyes at his words, “About Jaskier.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s not true,” her hand leaves but her body gets a little closer, “He was your friend.”

He bites his lip, “I don’t deserve to be called his friend.”

“That’s true,” she whispers, “But he considered you one, anyway.”

They lie together in silence for a while before Yennefer opens her mouth again, “Listen. I didn’t know Jaskier much, but I am sure that he forgave you a long time ago and he wouldn’t want you moping like that.”

Geralt nods to himself, “He was like that,” and continues, “But that doesn’t erase what I’ve done to him.”

“There’s no use for fretting over it now.” _It’s too late_ , she doesn’t add.

“I know,” he agrees.

Geralt wishes he had something of Jaskier’s – or that he at least knew where his bard was laid upon to rest. He wishes he knew at least a crumb of how was Jaskier’s life during those twenty years – was he happy? Did he have someone? What legacy does he have?

The answer to the last question should be obvious – people are still humming his songs over and over again and it’s been over forty years since Jaskier started his _career_.

 _Forty years_ , Geralt thinks, is a funny concept.

Jaskier in Geralt’s head is still a young man in his prime, a man prone to adventure and romance – a man who is immortal as long as his songs are sung, even if they are dreadful. A man full of passion and a man who deserved better and sometimes – very rarely – he pushes out the thought that Jaskier is dead. A judging voice of that innkeeper saying _we, humans, die just like that_ ignored and forgotten when he allows himself to imagine that they will meet after a short absence and then talk and touch as they always did. 

In the end, he collects himself and allows himself to only dwell on the memories of Jaskier, funny how before all that he haven't thought about Jaskier in about twenty years and now that's all he can think about. Though Geralt cannot allow himself to be distracted that much - he is a Witcher, after all, and they don't die of a cold or old age.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, kudos and comments are always appreciated!!
> 
> im really sorry for that but i thought that if i won't finish it in one sitting im never going to finish it,,, that's why its such a mess


End file.
